The surge of sympathy

  

I wind down my big production, pack the fiddle away after counting nine ones and pocketing eight quarters, having busked fiftysomeodd minutes minus the 7 minute conversation with one of 323 people passing by or working or shopping or owning the neighboring buildings or  parking cars to hobble toward the library past the grotesque traffic the planet eater trucks moving garbage brand new in new wrappers from Trash-is-US having lived on 80acres and a 3000 square foot home I'm not redecorating much or shopping for generators and sofas or ceiling fans humming  Their electric hymn ready for nails on chalkboard and bamboo skewers right under the nails those other ones located near fingertips on the bloody cross keeping the peace worldwide I sell out cheap, cheaper, cheapest to the over performative fraud contest because I feel sorry for thin glass houses or apartments and moving crews in a quagmire full of gypsies insensitive to labels and that high lonesome sound of needing rosin, less rosin, or bridges unglued on fire 

NW pdx 

"Another method of gaining cooperation is by paying musicians,  including former insurgents, to work as local stumps, and grow fungi, moss, and lichen."